


Truce

by Mhari



Category: Arthurian Legend
Genre: Community: get_laid25, Drabble Sequence, Multi, POV Third Person, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-07-03
Updated: 2007-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-05 08:39:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/39807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mhari/pseuds/Mhari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleeping with the enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truce

The boy from Orkney has beautiful hands, slim and strong. Nor is he shy of using them, "in all things God made them for," he says laughing, "like this-- or this--" while Lamorak, who's never thought of himself as a man for men, shudders and sighs and reaches for him again. Mordred is like that, laughing at everything.

"There's blood between us," Lamorak said once, and he shrugged.

"Lot wasn't my father. I don't miss him. Damned if he'll cheat me of my pleasure. --D'you want me?" those hands moving.

"God--!"

Laughter again. "Then damn both our families. Love me."

* * *

When he sees Morgause, he forgets everything else. She is heart-stoppingly beautiful, her body straight and sweetly rounded as a girl's beneath her widow's gown. He kneels before her, and she tilts his face upward with one slender, surprisingly strong hand. "Have you news of my sons?"

"Lady," he whispers, "I will bring you any news you ask."

"You will, won't you?" Her eyes, dark as a starless sky, are most beautiful of all. "You must stay the night," but all night he dreams of those sure hands on his skin, and knows he's never loved a woman so completely.

* * *

Lamorak has just drawn his first easy breath in days, when hands seize his wrists. "So," Mordred breathes against his ear, close and warm as if they were still lovers; and then shoves him to the ground and pins him there.

"Don't--" he tries to say. His pulse is racing in dread, indistinguishable from desire.

"_Don't_?" Mordred's fingers bite like iron. He has Morgause's dark eyes. "I could have told you don't, you treacherous dog, you fool-- why didn't you come to me? Whatever she did to you, you didn't have to kill her."

"But I--"

Then they're upon him.


End file.
